Undone
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series. The tag for 'Hollywood Babylon', 2x18. Wincest.


**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)**

* * *

Nothing is right anymore. Sam doesn't like that it's the end of the day after wrapping up a hunt and that usually he and Dean would be grabbing some dinner or winding down in a bar and then falling into bed together, just enough shy of exhausted to get lost in each other before they pass out, but tonight they won't. He doesn't like that they might never do that ever again. He doesn't like that he isn't over it yet, and that with each day that passes it seems more and more likely he'll _never _get over it. He doesn't like that Dean slept with that actress from the movie, and he doesn't like that he has no right to be upset about it because they aren't together now so Dean's allowed to sleep with whoever he wants, and Sam slept with someone else first. And he doesn't like how that just makes him think about Madison, about how much he wanted to be able to save her and how much of a colossal failure he feels like because he couldn't. Nothing is right and everything is twisted and backwards and wrong and Sam. Fucking. Hates it.

He's even thought about leaving. About going off on his own, trying to find the demon without Dean. He hasn't thought about doing that since he was a teenager. He doesn't _want_ to do it, but he's running out of options. He can't keep going on like this, living toe to toe with Dean twenty-four/seven. Sam hasn't had a ton of experience with break-ups, really his only substantial romantic experience to speak of is with Dean and with Jess, but he's pretty sure when most couples call it quits, they don't keep spending all their time with each other. They certainly don't keep living together out of a car and in shared motel rooms. It's too much. Sam doesn't think he's going to be able to handle it very much longer.

Dean's been silent ever since they left the movie set. He'd grinned like a little kid getting away with saying a dirty word when he first bounded out of Tara's trailer, but then he went quiet and tense and Sam doesn't know what to make of it. He keeps looking over at Sam like he's trying to work up the courage to say something, although Sam hopes he doesn't manage it because whatever he has to say, Sam's almost certain he won't like it. Eventually, while Sam's playing with the rabbit ears on the ancient TV in the hopes of picking up a channel that isn't the local news, Dean slowly walks up behind him, close enough for his presence to be noticeable and uncomfortable.

"What do you want, Dean?" Sam asks in slight annoyance.

Dean doesn't answer, he just moves in close to Sam's back and presses a kiss to the top of his shoulder.

"Oh," Sam says softly, understanding. And he was right. He doesn't like it.

"I'm so sorry," Dean whispers.

For almost a month, it's exactly what Sam's been wanting to hear. But now that Dean's saying it, Sam doesn't know how to feel about it. Part of him wants to just say he forgives Dean and kiss him and shove him down onto the bed and show him exactly how much Sam's missed him. But a bigger part of him isn't just sad and hurt that Dean broke them up; he's mad about it too. They had something amazing between them and Dean ripped it to shreds. Sam doesn't know _how_ to forgive him for that. And he doesn't know if he should, either. As much as he wants them to be together again, he doesn't know if he should trust Dean anymore. But then, Sam also knows that he sort of did the same thing to them when he left for Palo Alto. In the end, Sam's starting to feel like all they ever do is cause each other pain. So maybe Dean was right, before. Maybe they shouldn't be together.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he mumbles.

"You don't have to say anything. Just listen, okay?" Dean rests his forehead on the back of Sam's neck, his hands settling on Sam's hips but not low enough to be dangerous. "I was an idiot."

"Yeah, you were," Sam interrupts unfeelingly, pulling away from Dean and turning around.

"I _know_. I fucked up, Sammy. I felt like … we were getting in too deep, and I just panicked. I know it isn't a good excuse, but it's … it's the only one I've got. It's the truth. And I'm sorry."

"Doesn't it seem sometimes like we end up hurting each other more than we make each other happy?" Sam asks, the weight of his words sitting like lead in his stomach.

Dean considers him for a moment, and then frowns a little. "I … I guess so. Sometimes."

Sam exhales heavily and shakes his head. "I used to think it was worth it, you know? What we have is never gonna be normal, and I used to think, okay, things are like this with us because it's all tangled up in us being brothers too, and I thought … I thought, in the end, the good things about being with you would outweigh the bad things. But I'm just … I'm not sure they do anymore."

Dean nods but his face is strangely blank. Even still, Sam can tell his words are wounding Dean, probably more than he'll ever show. He feels bad about it but he can't stop himself. He doesn't really want to be saying any of this but he has to.

"When I was with Jess, I mean we argued every now and then, all couples do. But it wasn't like this. We had ups and downs but mostly we were just … happy."

"I don't make you happy," Dean says quietly, and it should be a question but it isn't.

"No, you – that's not what I meant," Sam says quickly, hating the empty look in Dean's eyes. "You do. It's just … everything else. And I know some of it's my fault. And hell, some of it isn't anyone's fault. But …"

He trails off, and Dean asks, "What?"

Sam takes a minute to get his thoughts sorted out before he answers. "Sometimes our lives really suck," he says eventually. "And usually, that's not something we can control. But the one thing that _shouldn't _suck, is this. You and me. It's supposed to be the one thing that _makes_ us happy, the thing that … that brings us, I don't know, peace. Relief from all the other shit that just doesn't stop coming."

"What are you saying?"

Sam sighs. His shoulders slump with how much he wishes he weren't about to say what he is. "I'm saying, if this thing between us has become something that causes us just as much pain as everything else, then maybe it isn't worth it anymore. Maybe you were right, maybe we should just go back to being brothers."

Dean nods, frowning. He takes a few steps away from Sam, just standing there for a minute with the muscles in his back flexing, and then he turns around. He reaches behind himself and scratches his neck, and Sam can't quite read his expression. He looks uncomfortable but he also looks smaller and sadder than he has in a long time. "Do you … I don't know if I can."

Sam doesn't answer because he doesn't know what to say. He's not sure he can go back to being just brothers either, but he's out of other options.

"I wasn't right, Sammy," Dean continues, his gaze settling somewhere near Sam's collarbone. "I was stupid. We're supposed to be together, I don't know why I forgot that."

"Maybe we're not."

"We _are_," Dean insists. "I don't know a lot about this kinda stuff but I know that for sure."

Sam shakes his head a little. "Then why did you do this?"

Dean winces and shoots Sam a brief pained expression before dropping his eyes again. "I don't know."

Sam sighs again, this time in frustration. "I get that it's hard for you to talk about things like this, but you're gonna have to at least try. You have to give me _something_, Dean, I mean you can't just stand there looking sad and expect me to take you back because I feel sorry for you. You ended things out of nowhere, you shattered us into a million pieces and if you're even going to _start_ to glue us back together you're gonna have to talk to me."

"Look, just … a bunch of shitty things all happened at once!" Dean grumbles, turning away from Sam again and running his hands over his face. "The Croatoan virus, and the bank, and the thing with Gordon when I thought you were dead, and then you getting possessed … it was like, I'd gotten comfortable. Because for a while everything was so good, but then it all just spun out of control and suddenly it just became very _real_ to me how easily I could lose you. And I don't just mean you going back to school, I mean losing you for real. I wouldn't survive that. I couldn't."

Sam can't see Dean's face, but his voice sounds like he's close to tears, and that has emotion welling up in Sam's throat.

"So … I don't know. It was instinct, it was … self-preservation, maybe. You know me, you know that's how I am. Things get too heavy and I back off, that's how I've always been. I don't _want_ to be like that, but I … I don't know how to be different. This is why I've never had anything serious with anyone but you. The only other time I've ever tired to be _more_ to someone was Cassie and that blew up in my face, so I'm … a little gun-shy, I guess. With stuff like this, anyway. But I was wrong, okay? I get that now."

"Wrong about what?" Sam asks softly. He almost doesn't want to push – he knows he's already gotten more out of Dean than he ever hoped to and he doesn't want to take it too far and make Dean close up again, but he needs Dean to say it. He _thinks_ he knows what Dean means, but just assuming he and Dean are on the same page has gotten him into trouble lately.

"About everything," Dean answers. He turns back around halfway; he still won't look directly at Sam, but Sam can see his face enough to see that even though there aren't tears, he looks miserable. "It would be the same. It doesn't matter if we're not sleeping together, it doesn't matter if you're halfway across the country in Palo Alto, it doesn't matter if I haven't seen you in years. If I lost you, it'd still be the same. I don't even know who I am without you anymore. We're Sam and Dean, you know? Everybody even says it that way, Sam'n'Dean, like it's one word. I don't even remember how to just be Dean. I don't _want_ to, even if that scares me sometimes. And it's not the sex, Sammy, it's _you_, whether we're together or not. And I just … I messed up."

Sam nods, licking his dry lips and swallowing. There's a tiny piece of him that still wants to be mad but most of him just realizes how right Dean is. There was a time when Sam knew how to just be Sam, on his own and without his brother, but that more or less disappeared the first time their lips touched when Sam was fifteen. He runs a hand absently through his hair and sits down on the edge of the bed. It isn't so much that he doesn't know what to say anymore, it's that he has _too_ much to say and he doesn't know where to start. But Dean beats him to it.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he says again. "I really fucked up this time. I just … want you to love me again."

Dean's words hit Sam like a ton of emotional bricks, and then they settle so heavy in his chest he's saying, "I never stopped loving you," before he even realizes he spoke out loud. But then Dean looks so cautiously, quietly hopeful that Sam can't regret saying it.

"Really?"

Sam nods. "Yeah."

Dean just stares at him for a moment or two, like he's trying to figure out if Sam's telling the truth or not, but then he must decide that Sam is because he slowly walks over and sits next to Sam on the bed.

"You wanna know why I can't say it?"

"Yeah. I really do."

"Because, I … because what happens if you change your mind?" Dean asks. His eyes aren't quite dry anymore, and Sam can tell how hard it is for him to even get those words out.

"Change my mind about what?"

"About this. Us. Everything."

"Why the hell would you think that'll happen?"

"I'm not saying I'm expecting it, but it _could_ happen. We're not gay, Sam. We both like chicks, we always have. You were in a relationship with one for almost two years. A relationship that was _real_, feelings and holding hands and date nights and the whole god damn nine, instead of what you and I have, which has its perks but mostly it's just twelve different kinds of fucked up. So what's so crazy about thinking one day you might decide this isn't what you want? _I'm_ not what you want?"

Sam gapes at him. "Y'know, just when I think you can't _possibly_ be controlled by your crazy issues any more than you already are, you go and prove me wrong. I don't get this, Dean, I don't understand how you got like this. Did I do this to you?"

Dean closes his eyes. "That isn't what this is about."

"Then what?"

"Sam, this works for us because of the way we live. We both know that. You and me, we're the only people we can trust. We're practically the only people we _know_, now that Dad's gone. So as long as this is our life, it works. But what about later? Once we kill the demon, what if you decide you don't want this life? I'm always gonna be a hunter, Sammy, I just am. But you? You could do anything you want to do, unless I'm always there holding you back. You can't go off and be some big-shot lawyer and still keep fucking your brother."

"That – that's just – " Sam splutters.

"It's _true_, Sam," Dean insists. "I know you. Sooner or later, you're gonna remember why you went off to school in the first place, why you wanted out of this life. I mean, for fuck's sake, we were together for over a year, faithful and monogamous and all that crap, and in the few weeks since we've been broken up we've both fucked someone else. A _female_ someone else. That says something."

"So, what, if I told you I'm gay, that would fix all this?"

"You're not."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm not. But I was still with you, for over a year. A hell of a lot longer than that if you count when we were kids. _That_ says more. That should tell you that I don't care if you're a man, I don't care if you're my brother, and I don't care that the only reason we ever got together is because we're fucked in the head. None of that stuff ever mattered to me, Dean, it's … it's you. That's the only thing. Only explanation I ever needed."

"Yeah, well." Dean sighs dejectedly. "I don't know how to be like you. It doesn't mean I don't care about you, it just means I worry about this shit. I would stop if I could, but I don't know how to just turn it off. Look … I'm sorry, alright? I don't know what else to say."

"What … um. What changed your mind?" Sam asks slowly.

Dean chews on his bottom lip for just a moment before he answers. "Tara. She … I mean, she was really great in those movies. I really am a fan, I wasn't just saying that to get into her pants. And she's a movie star, being with her should've been life-changing. Something I'd remember forever. But it wasn't. 'Cause she wasn't you."

Sam nods. It's more open and honest than Dean almost ever is, and Sam knows how difficult that is for him. Also, it has warmth spreading in his chest because that's the same way he feels about Dean. Madison was beautiful and sexy and he really, _really_ liked her, but it wasn't as good as it should have been because she wasn't Dean.

"Sometimes I don't get why this thing between us works," Dean continues, his voice low and soft. "Logically, it shouldn't. I'm into girls, and so are you. But it's … I don't know. I guess it isn't always about the parts, you know? It's about who's underneath. And if it isn't you, it isn't the same. It shouldn't have taken me so long to figure that out."

Nodding again, Sam shifts just a little closer to his brother and says, "I know. It's like that for me too. Being with Madison was good but it wasn't like it is with you."

"I'm so sorry you had to kill her." Dean's fingers twitch where they're resting on his thigh, like he's about to reach over and touch Sam but then changes his mind at the last minute. He folds his hands in his lap instead and stares down at them.

Sam's throat constricts just a little, a lump of emotion momentarily closing the back of it. "I am too. It wasn't even all about her, y'know? I mean, I hate that she had to die. She didn't deserve what happened to her. But it was like … she was just this regular person, living her regular life, and then something happened to her and then there was something evil in her, and it wasn't her fault. And I guess … I guess I thought if I could find a way to save her, then maybe …"

He trails off but Dean knows what he was going to say anyway. "Maybe you could be saved too."

Sam doesn't tell Dean he's right because he doesn't need to. He blinks back the tears that are stinging in his eyes, and they sit in silence for a few long minutes. The seconds tick by so slowly and Sam just wants everything to be back the way it was a month ago, when Dean would already have them both naked by now, and instead of feeling sad and tense and hollow, Sam could be soaking up the kind of comfort only Dean knows how to give him. And Dean's right, it isn't the sex. Not totally, anyway. Sam could get sex anywhere if that's all he wanted, his night with Madison proved that. It's everything else that makes him love Dean more than he's ever loved anything.

"You really think I have crazy issues?" Dean asks, after what feels like forever, and Sam instantly wishes he hadn't said that.

"I think we both do," he says carefully. "I think … I think you have a fear of being abandoned. And I think you leave people when things get too serious because that way they can't leave _you_."

Dean nods and keeps staring at his hands, his eyebrows scrunching together in the middle. Sam's not saying anything that isn't true, but he hates that he put that look on Dean's face.

"But I don't blame you," he adds gently. "Whatever issues you've got, you've earned them. And I don't want you to change, okay? Just … maybe try to trust me a little. I _love_ you, I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay."

Dean wipes his nose with the back of his hand, his eyes a little shinier than usual, and Sam can't keep his hands to himself anymore. He tentatively reaches out and slides his fingers down Dean's cheek, and Dean leans into the touch just slightly but enough for Sam to take it as a green light. He moves in closer, wrapping his arm around Dean's shoulders and pulling him in, and Dean goes without a fight. He leans against Sam's chest, his head resting in the crook of Sam's neck, and Sam kisses his forehead like Dean usually does to him. It all isn't quite as simple as Sam made it sound, and he knows that. Dean's insecurities run too deep to just be fixed because someone said 'trust me' and Dean said 'okay'. But it's a start.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispers again.

"I forgive you," Sam says, and Dean pushes his face into Sam's neck and leans against him a little more.

Sam knows his forgiveness is worth more than Dean will admit, because it's more than Dean will ever give himself. There are so many things Sam knows Dean still blames himself for, most of which aren't even Dean's fault but he still beats himself up over them and Sam wishes like crazy he could take them all away. He can't, but he can do this. He can hold Dean together in the rare moments when Dean lets him; he can keep the pieces together as Dean falls apart. And he can love Dean and carry on hoping that one day it will be enough.

He lowers them both down onto the mattress, kissing Dean slowly and not pulling away as they move together up towards the head of the bed. Sam settles on his side, one elbow propping him up and one leg between Dean's. He pours everything he feels into the kiss, lets himself just be stripped bare and lets Dean have all of him. If Dean's looking for a reason to believe Sam's in this as deep as he is, Sam can give him that.

"You sure?" Dean asks quietly, the words smeared into Sam's lips.

Sam doesn't know what he's asking exactly – if Sam's sure about what they're doing, or sure if he forgives Dean, or sure about anything else Dean may be worrying about – but Sam says yes anyway. It doesn't really matter what it is. As long as it's Dean, Sam's sure about everything.

He kisses Dean until his lips tingle and his tongue is sore, and then he rolls on top of Dean and kisses him more as he rolls his hips down and warmth spreads all the way to his toes and fingertips. Dean wraps his arms around the middle of Sam's back and holds on like he's afraid Sam will disappear if he doesn't, and Sam lets Dean take all his weight. There are far too many things in their lives that aren't permanent, and Sam wants Dean to know this is the one thing that is. That no matter what else is happening, there won't ever be a minute that passes where Sam doesn't love him.

"What d'you want?" Sam whispers eventually, when his lips have gone numb and he's hard enough to pound nails and grinding his erection down into Dean's still feels amazing but it isn't quite enough anymore.

"This," Dean answers, and again Sam doesn't quite know what he means but at the same time he understands perfectly. As much as actual sex would be awesome, it would require moving. And being away from Dean, even a few feet away, is something Sam doesn't want right now.

He slides off and back onto his side, tugging Dean with him until they're facing each other. Reaching down, he palms Dean's cock through his jeans, squeezing gently and smiling as Dean's eyes flutter closed. He rubs slowly for a minute, loving how hot and hard it is under his hand, and then he flips the button open and pushes his hand down into Dean's boxers so he can curl his fingers around the warm flesh. He strokes it lightly, teasing at the head with his thumb, and Dean moans softly.

"Sammy," he breathes, dropping his head down so his forehead is resting against Sam's on the pillow, and Sam lights up inside. Secretly, he's always loved it when Dean calls him that. It's a dumb, childish nickname that just stuck, but it means something more when Dean says it.

Sam pulls his hand out and spits into his palm before he goes back, because the lube is way too far away. He works Dean's cock purposefully but still slow, dragging his hand up and down the shaft and squeezing and twisting the way he knows Dean likes it. Eventually, Dean reaches for Sam and gets his jeans undone too, brushing his fingertips just barely against the underside of Sam's dick and it's hardly anything at all but it has Sam sighing happily with how good it feels. He smears the precome over his palm and then wraps his hand around Sam's cock, stroking with the same rhythm Sam has going. Sam's always loved Dean's hands. They've always taken care of him; made him dinner, put Band-Aids on his scraped knees, tucked him in at night, showed him how to clean a gun. Jerking Sam off is a different kind of taking care of him, but somehow it's just as important because it means so much more than just friction and an orgasm when it's Dean.

Dean squeezes around the head, twisting his hand around and it's slippery and warm and Sam bites his bottom lip around a groan as his head swims. Dean inches in just a little closer and kisses Sam, humming into Sam's mouth as Sam swipes his thumb over Dean's slit. Pleasure blooms low in Sam's stomach, and it builds unhurried and easy and perfect. It's a slow burn, consuming him gradually until he all but forgets what it's like not to feel this way. It's too soon when Dean comes because Sam wants it to last forever, but the breathy, bitten-off noise he makes and the feeling of him pulsing in Sam's hand and flooding the tiny space between his clothes and his stomach with sticky heat is enough to toss Sam over the edge too. He lets the sparks catch and floats in the bliss, his vision blurred and his body warm and satisfied.

Dean's just watching him when Sam opens his eyes – those green irises dark, his gaze intense and soft at the same time. There's love in them, liquid and strong and unmistakable, and Sam was an idiot for ever thinking Dean doesn't love him just because he can't say it out loud. The way Dean looks at him says it more than words ever could anyway.

He looks almost like he used to, in moments like this, when Sam was seven or eight and Dean was eleven or twelve and he was _everything_. Big and strong and brave, and magical. When he had all the answers, when there wasn't anything he couldn't do in Sam's eyes. Any problem Sam had, Dean could fix it by just smiling at him; that secret smile that's only ever meant for Sam. He was Sam's own personal superhero. He loved Dean so much then, but Sam thinks he might love him more now _because _he doesn't have all the answers anymore. He was a knight in shining armor when Sam was young enough to believe in things like that, but now he's just a man – weaknesses and flaws and limitations – and he's so _beautiful_ in all his imperfections that sometimes Sam can't even look at him without his heart racing and his breath catching in his throat. Sam loves him; the kind of all-encompassing love that's only supposed to exist in poems or Romeo and Juliet. And Dean's right. It shouldn't work, this thing between them, but it does. Maybe the truth is it exists because it has to. Because neither of them know how to function without it.

He pushes up onto one elbow again so he can lean down and kiss Dean softly, and Dean reaches up and slides his fingers into Sam's hair. It's stupid that _that's_ what finally makes Sam feel like everything is going to be okay, but it is. Dean's fingertips move over Sam's scalp, tugging gently at the strands, and Sam smiles into the kiss.

"I … I do, you know. Even though I … can't …" Dean trails off and closes his eyes, pressing his lips together and looking so annoyed with himself that it make Sam ache inside.

"I know," he murmurs, kissing Dean again. "I always knew that."

He rolls onto his back again and pulls Dean with him; Dean settles against Sam's side with his head pillowed on Sam's chest and Sam wraps his arms around Dean's back, absently trailing his fingers up and down over the material of Dean's shirt. It's so rare that Dean lets them lie like this – usually he insists on being the one with his arms around Sam; the big brother, eternally in charge, and Sam never has a problem with that but sometimes it's nice to be the one holding Dean for a change. It's nice to feel like Dean knows it's okay sometimes to drop the character he's created to protect himself from moments like this and just let himself _be_.

There's still tension in his shoulders, though, Sam can feel it, and he whispers, "Stop," into Dean's messy hair.

Dean doesn't have to ask to know what Sam's talking about. "I can't. I hurt you," he says, his voice quiet and full of shame and regret and it breaks Sam's heart all over again.

"Yeah, you did," he replies softly. "And you will again, probably. I will too. We're human, Dean. It happens."

Dean doesn't answer, and Sam's running out of different ways to tell Dean he accepts all his faults and, even more importantly, loves him in spite of and because of them. It won't matter what Sam says anyway. Dean's going to beat himself up over this because that's what Dean does, so Sam doesn't bother trying to stop it from happening. There's a sticky mess in his boxers that's starting to demand most of his attention, so he just gets up and takes Dean's hand and leads him to the bathroom. He strips them both out of their clothes and drags Dean into the shower with him, gently pushing Dean under the spray and then moving in close behind him; sliding his arms around Dean's waist and pulling Dean into his chest. Dean sighs a little but he doesn't protest – he just leans his head back against Sam's shoulder and reaches up behind himself to tangle his fingers in Sam's hair.

He kisses Sam sideways and Sam loses himself in Dean's soft lips and tongue and the feeling of being almost romantic with Dean in a way they almost never are. Tomorrow they'll go back to being brothers, at least while the sun's up, and honestly Sam's okay with that. He likes it that way, even, that they've found a way to pick out the best parts of being brothers and being more instead of having to choose one over the other. And Sam doesn't care how long it takes, he's going to convince Dean that he loves him and that he won't leave him ever again. And the next time Dean does something like this, tries to cut and run instead of accepting the truth that what they have is real and that it gives them both way too much to lose sometimes, Sam's going to kick his ass instead of just letting him keep them apart. Because if there's one thing he knows absolutely for sure, it's that he belongs with Dean. Like this.


End file.
